A House Divided
by Bryana
Summary: A full length novel presented chapter by chapter, A House Divided is the story of a family torn apart by the living dead. Interweaving characters and plots from the comics, show, and Telltale game, five family members struggle to survive and reunite as the walking dead ravage their worlds and lives.
1. Anna, Day 1

**So I'm trying this story on a kind of experimental basis- it's a full novel and I'm testing it here, through this medium, to see how readers like it! It's a spin off of Walking Dead involving the TV show and video game (and possibly comics), as well as a ton of original content of my own. Beware of spoilers from either medium!**

**NOTE FOR ENTIRE SERIES: Excluding certain characters that are the properties of AMC, Robert Kirkman, and Telltale Games, the writings in this series are my intellectual property. I reserve the right to remove my content at any time from this site and to publish any of my work, should I choose to after receiving rights from other outlets necessary. My characters and stories are mine alone, and if other authors would like to use my ideas, they must receive explicit permission beforehand.**

**Part 1**

Chaos

"Real life isn't a series of interconnected events occurring one after another, like beads strung on a necklace. Life is actually a series of encounters in which one event may change those that follow in a wholly unpredictable, even devastating, way."

Michael Crichton

**Chapter 1**

_Anna. Day 1._

_"Sir!"_

_"Yes, your question."_

_"Rumor has it that, without a known cure, the outbreak has been nearly impossible to contain, is this true?"_

_"We've already released a statement regarding the research into the virus…"_

_"Sir, are you confirming that it is a viral outbreak?"_

_"I'm sorry, miss, that was a slip of the tongue. We can neither confirm nor deny any comments about the origins or characteristics of… the infestation yet. We haven't been able to monitor an infected patient long enough to…"_

_"Sir, if the disease is indeed viral, can we assume that…"_

_"It is not viral, Miss. Rather, if it is, we don't know that yet. I misspoke when I said that. The infestation is of unknown origin and we don't quite understand its behavior as of yet. To assume anything about the infestation, when we still know so very little about it, would be folly. Can we move on to the next question please? Yes, you…"_

_"How long have you been able to monitor patients?"_

_"The longest we've had a patient under observation is twenty-seven minutes."_

_"Twenty seven minutes?!"_

_"Sir, was the patient in question infected? What were their symptoms?"_

_"The patient was indeed infected, their symptoms included deranged behavior, failure to acknowledge verbal communication, physical hostility…"_

_"Were there any conclusive results from studying the behaviors of this patient?"_

_"No… none that I am permitted to release at this time."_

_"Why aren't you permitted to release them?"_

_"Without confirmation and conclusive data, these findings are questionable. Releasing data that may not be true would only lead to disruption and confusion. We don't want to cause any further chaos and disturbance in the public without certainty of what we're dealing with and potential solutions to the problems…"_

_"There are people being attacked daily in the streets! We're already in chaos!"_

_"Sir, please calm down. We're aware of the situation and are doing our best to find a cure to this disease as quickly as we can."_

_"Can it be cured?"_

_"We don't know yet."_

_"What _do_ you know?"_

I watched the screen carefully as the man in the white lab coat tightened his lips and gripped the edges of the podium firmly, looking down at the microphone as if it were a small child; he didn't know what he could say to these people that would satisfy them without lying to them. They deserved the truth, but he didn't know if the truth was what they really wanted; what they really needed. He looked back up at his attentive audience with a somber expression, camera flashes quickly illuminating his face before dimming away.

_"We know that this disease is highly contagious and those infected need to be isolated in efforts to stop the spread of it and contain it."_

_"Sir, how do you recommend the public protect themselves?"_

_"We recommend isolating yourselves, staying home, washing hands…"_

_"Hand washing? You really think hand washing is going to fix all this? What do you think, we're idiots? Why won't you just tell us what you know?!"_

My eyes were blankly fixed on the television screen as I stood in the center of the living room with my arms crossed. I had been standing there for what felt like hours, watching the panic attacks unfold on the news. Days had passed in the same fashion. Over the last few days, I'd heard of a couple of reported cases of this "virus" in Greensboro. News reports would flash a "breaking news" graphic on the screen and the anchor would talk about a homeless man attacking a businessman and trying to eat him, not stopping until a bystander attacked him and killed him. Reports started covering morticians that dealt with the bodies of these bitten and, in some cases, half eaten people: they seemed shell shocked and terrified, like characters in the closing moments of horror films. All these reports started airing about a week ago; I should have known then that something bigger was coming. Being a medical health professional I knew that, for every reported case, at least a dozen go unreported. These were the bread crumbs that should have led us to realize what greater chaos was coming our way. Yet, somehow, we're still all surprised.

Surprisingly, one of the first cities declared a war zone was Stillwater, Minnesota: some small town in the middle of nowhere. Frantic reports from rescued survivors said a group of girl scouts had all been infected while they were away at camp. The camp was a few miles out of town, in the middle of the woods; isolated, remote, supposedly "safe." I could hardly imagine being a mother in that town and seeing a horde of little girls emerging from the woods and terrorizing the masses; it sounded like a nightmare.

Once things started getting worse, cities like L.A. and New York went into lock down. Flights were being grounded. The nation was going into a state of defense. Not only the nation; the world. CNN reported that countries all over the world were declaring states of emergency and crises: Spain, England, Australia, China, France, basically every country that had the ability to call CNN.

Some news channels featured stories from conspiracy theorists: that the terrorists had figured out biological terrorism and were polluting our water with neurochemicals that were making us crazy and cannibalistic. "Don't you get it, they're attacking us from the _inside!_" They'd claim. I just rolled my eyes. I was doubtful of that reasoning; countries like Pakistan, North Korea, and Iran were suffering under the same conditions. Other channels featured missing people's stories; since things started getting worse, hundreds of people went missing every day. A week ago, it would be a name mentioned here and there. Seven days later, the anchor would sit down in front of the camera with a packet every night and read off all the names listed. Last night, the announcement took about forty-five minutes. It made my skin crawl to think that the list he announced only contained the names of the people that were called in to the news station that day; hundreds, maybe thousands more names went unannounced every night.

_"You said in your release that there have been no recorded cases of infected people surviving, correct?"_

_"… That is correct."_

_"How is that possible?"_

_"We haven't found a cure yet."_

_"Have you even been trying to treat it?"_

_"Trying, yes, of course, but, regrettably, we've thus far been unsuccessful. There's not much we can do to treat…"_

_"I don't understand…"_

_"You haven't even found a treatment?"_

_"Sir, are you not capable of treating the symptoms? If you're able to treat the symptoms, should you not be able to at least control the rate at which the disease wears down the body?"_

_"You don't understand…"_

_"Then explain."_

_"The symptoms that accompany infection are quite devastating. We can treat the symptoms to a point, but without a cure, there's no way to nurse the patients back to health. It's like… trying to eradicate a bug infestation by purchasing bug spray and fly swatters, but never being able to use them on the bugs. We don't know how to stop this infestation because we don't understand the basics of the infestation yet."_

_"Is this 'infestation,' so called, comparable to any other disease encountered throughout history?"_

_"Do you mean in terms of symptoms or impact?"_

_"Either."_

_"Obviously, this disease is entirely foreign to us. We've never had to deal with anything quite like this before; if we did, we'd already have a cure for it. This is the black plague of our time. We haven't figured it out yet…"_

_"Are you saying mortality rates will match those of the black plague?"_

_"I didn't say that…"_

_"You just said, I quote, 'this is the black plague of our time…'"_

_"I meant in terms of impact and research, Miss. Just like our predecessors throughout history and specifically those in the 1330s, we don't know enough about what we're dealing with. Similarly to the Bubonic Plague, our patients are dying too fast for us to be able to study them long enough to draw conclusive data from them about the disease. Unfortunately, things are likely to get worse before they get better…"_

_"How much worse?"_

_"It's impossible to know right now. We don't know what we're working with yet…"_

_"How high do you think the mortality rate will climb?"_

_"Miss, I can't speculate as to specific numbers. All I can say is that I want the public to be prepared for things to get worse. I don't want anyone assuming we have everything under control when, frankly, we still have a lot of work to do."_

_"How close are you to finding a cure?"_

_"Do you have _anything_ under control?"_

_"Please, we're unsure of how close we are to finding a cure and we are working as hard and as fast as we can."_

_"Is it possible that the disease will spread to unbeatable levels before the CDC has had enough time to create a cure?"_

_"We can speculate worse case scenarios here all day, what's important is that we focus on…"_

As important as this news report was, I wasn't really listening to it. I stood in the middle of the living room and blankly stared at the screen with my arms folded over my chest, my eyes falling in and out of focus. I wasn't thinking about the doctor from the Center for Disease Control or the prodding, anxious questions of the reporters. I was thinking back to the last phone call I'd shared with my daughter, Natalie.

She'd called earlier in the day, just wanting to catch up and talk with me. She had a way of calling at the most inconvenient time and demanding we talk, but she never really had much news of importance that she needed to talk about. She'd call and ask me a simple question, and I'd respond with a quick, nonspecific answer.

"How was your day?" She'd ask.

"Fine," I'd answer. "And how was yours?"

"It was exhausting- but the good kind of exhausting. You know, the kind of tired you get after you have a long but really good and productive day at work? It was such a long day. My boss wanted this spreadsheet that I'd made weeks ago but I couldn't find it on my computer for the longest time. I already gave it to him so it was super frustrating that he was asking for another copy, like he ignored it the first time around or something, but I was really professional and told him I'd get him _another _copy. It took me forever to find, but I knew I had to have one somewhere in my computer files, I wouldn't have just deleted it, it took a really long time to make…" and on and on she'd rail about something I knew and cared very little about. I would feign interest out of politeness and listen just long enough to find a few statements I could affirm or deny with a quick "mhm" or "ugh." By the end of her monologue, she'd find a reason to need to get off the phone and do a quick, "I'm at the store now, gotta run! I love you!"

'I love you.' She'd learned to build it into her goodbye. It always sounded the same. She'd rush through the 'I,' then linger on the uh sound in 'love' for just a second to long, as if holding the vowel sound longer would somehow intensify the feeling. She'd punctuate the goodbye with a quick 'you,' and the line would make an empty clicking sound and she'd be gone. Somehow, the rehearsed sounding farewell usually didn't make me feel so touched or appreciated. But at least I know she said it. I couldn't remember if, when she hung up last, I replied to her "I luuuuuhve you" with a requiting reminder.

I knew that my anxiety over our most recent farewell was really just masking my fears that something might happen to her, but I wouldn't let my anxieties show. I glanced over at the cordless phone I'd dropped on the chair. Of course I was nervous that D.C. would lockdown; I was kind of surprised it wasn't the first to lockdown. But I didn't want my daughter in a war zone. I'd tried to call her earlier when I heard the initial report that New York City and Los Angeles were in lockdown, but the lines were all too busy.

'The lines were all busy;' the thought almost made me laugh. Something like that hadn't happened to me since 9/11. At the time, the kids were all in school and Matthew worked in human resources for a credit card company. We lived in Richmond, Virginia and he had business in D.C. He left early in the morning for the airport, before the first plane hit the tower. When it happened I got nervous, not wanting him to be on a plane. I tried calling him but the lines were down. After a while, the plane crashed into the pentagon. All I knew was that my husband's plane was heading in that direction. I panicked, dialing the same phone number again and again, tears streaming down my face as I got the same recorded message telling me that the call couldn't be made. I remember I was mashing my fingers against the keys, barely able to see the numbers anymore through my teary eyes, when the front door opened and Matthew quickly stepped into the house, calling my name. I dropped the phone in disbelief and relief.

"I never made it to the airport," He said, running to me before I could even ask what had happened. He'd forgotten some files at the office and decided he couldn't go to his meeting in D.C. without them. He was about to leave when the World Trade Center was hit. Later, we came to find out that his plane wasn't the one that was hijacked, but to me it all felt the same. I thought my husband had died that day.

And now we were apart again. He was travelling on business somewhere down in Texas. I was alone to deal with this stress and trauma again. But this time, I was stronger. I didn't make futile phone calls and cry at the TV. I somehow knew that he was safe. I was more stressed about my kids; I knew Christian would be an anxious wreck, Natalie would be having a panic attack, and Charlie would be stressed about all of us freaking out. I considered calling Natalie again, but I knew that the lines would still be down. I knew attempting to call her again would be pointless, but I knew she would want to hear my voice; she was so independent and capable, but she needed to know that I believed everything would be okay. Even if I didn't believe it, I wished I could make her believe it. I was barely able to keep myself from pouncing on the phone again and mashing my fingers against the keys, dialing her phone number.

The sound of heavy footsteps landing on the hardwood planks of the first floor snapped my attention back to reality. Christian sauntered into the living room from the back staircase, his face pointed at the television screen to catch the images of frantic reporters badgering the doctor from the Center for Disease Control.

_"… no further comments at this time."_

_"Sir, what is the current death toll?"_

_"Due to the situation we find ourselves in, I have no further comments at this time about the death toll or mortality rates due to this infestation…"_

_"Why won't you release the death toll? We have a right to know!"_

_"I have no comment about the death toll at this time! There's no need to cause a panic or further disturbance at this time!"_

_"How high is it?!"_

_"No comment."_

_"Is it in the thousands?"_

_"No comm…"_

_"Ten-thousands?"_

_"I have nothing to…"_

_"Hundreds of thousands?!"_

_"I have no comment!"_

_"Sir, we're not finished! Get back!"_

The doctor was escorted away from the pressing crowd of reporters and the special report ceased, switching frames back to the local news anchor.

_"That was Dr. Edwin Jenner of the Center for Disease Control located in Atlanta, Georgia, updating the public on the research being done to find the source and thus a cure for this 'infestation,' as he called it…"_

"People are going crazy out there," Christian said with a shake of his head. I nodded. "Guess I'm just glad we don't live in one of those big cities anymore." I nodded reassuringly, but I couldn't help think back to the poor little town of Stillwater, Minnesota. "You okay?" He asked me, snapping me away from my thoughts. I nodded quickly again, trying to shake myself out of the fog I was in and stay attentive to what he was saying.

"Fine," I answered. He knew better than to think that 'fine' actually meant that I was doing fine; he knew that 'fine' was practically a direct translation of 'not okay.' He nodded, his face unable to hide the concern he felt for me. "Get bored of video games?" I asked, trying to cheer him and myself up by changing the subject.

"Yeah, I guess. I just… couldn't help but hear the news from upstairs," He shrugged.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I can turn it down if you want…" I started, taking a short step towards the remote while he waved his hand to stop me.

"No, it's fine. I just heard a lot of people were yelling and stuff and I thought I'd come downstairs and watch it with you," He said, stepping closer to me, crossing his arms seriously over his chest. He was only sixteen, but he towered about a foot over me. He was scrawny and lean; he looked like someone had grabbed hold of his head and feet when he was a child and stretched him out. His blondish hair and bold features hardly resembled my own, but he was a dead-ringer for his dad. His dog, Starbuck, stood obediently at his side, barely taller than his knees. She stared up at him with big brown eyes, eager for attention.

"You didn't have to come down," I replied. "I know how much you hate watching the news. I'm really fine." He hesitated before saying anything in response, glancing somberly down at the floor before looking back up at the television.

"Yeah, well it doesn't really matter if I hate it anymore. I feel like we all need to keep as updated as we can these days," He said. I couldn't argue with that logic. "I know you're worried," He reluctantly spat out. I tried to maintain a stoic appearance. "With dad being gone, Natalie in D.C., and Charlie in Athens… I know it makes you nervous." I hesitated before answering, considering whether or not to debate the true statement. I knew that he'd worry if he knew I was worried, but I couldn't very well hide it for long.

"That obvious, huh?" I tried to smile to lighten the mood, though I continued to stare straight ahead at the TV.

"Only kind of," He answered. "I know you are because I am." I forced a small, comforting smile and turned to face him. "Have you heard anything from Charlie?" He asked. I shook my head, trying not to look hopeless.

"No… the phones are all still down. I'm sure Charlie's okay though," I said with a nod. They were good siblings, but best friends. I knew Charlie would be alright; of all my children, Charlie was the most independent.

"I know… I just…I know," He answered me.

"Everything will be fine, I'm sure," I said as confidently as I could. Of course, I didn't believe it with conviction. I wanted to believe that everything would be fine, but I didn't have enough faith to assume that my family would be able to safely snap back together again with all the flights cancelled and cities going into lockdown. I was just as scared as Christian was, if not more. He nodded in agreement to my optimistic sentiment, but I knew that the same anxieties lay just below his forced, agreeable smile.

"Do you need to go out?" Christian asked aloud. I turned to see that he was looking down at Starbuck, watching her spin in circles and wag her tail at the suggestion. She ran ahead as he led her to the front door and opened it, letting the dog slip out through a thin crack and onto the front porch. He walked back to my side and we refocused on the television as a breaking news graphic flashed up on the screen and the anchor frantically tried to make sense of the fresh news being fed to him through the teleprompter.

_"…just in, we're receiving updates from Washington D.C. The city is officially in a state of lockdown as the situation worsens…"_

I felt my heart sink into my feet and tears try to climb my throat. Natalie…

_"Sources speculate that the events unfolding may be the result of a mass terrorist attack. We're having confirmed reports from the white house, orders for the American public… a recent disease outbreak is causing what seems to be a cannibalistic outbreak. Little is known about the disease, except that it has fatal results. After death, those who are infected seem to… reanimate. Reanimate… can we get confirmation that this information is correct? It is? Are you sure?"_

I shook my head in confusion and disbelief as I stared despairingly at the screen.

_"Holy shit… I mean, um… I… after reanimation, the disease is causing what seems to be a… cannibalistic outbreak. If you have recently been attacked or bitten by another person, authorities ask that you report to your nearest hospital, government facility, or military outpost immediately. Those who have not been infected are asked to stay in their homes and stay hidden until evacuation orders have been passed down from the white house. You can receive your evacuation plan by staying with us and watching channel nine news…"_

"What do we do?" Christian asked me. I shook my head, not knowing how to answer him or if I even could. "Did he say dead people are reanimating? That means… what I think it means, right?" Christian asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"I think so," I answered, sitting down beside him.

_"…-been bitten are asked to report to… oh, my God… um… God… the… the vice president is dead…"_

I could feel my hand shaking as I rested it on top of my knee. I tried to control it, but it only began to shake more.

_"…I repeat, the vice president is dead. We have confirmed reports of his death from the White House. He has fallen as a victim to this infection and was unable to be saved by White House medical staff. The president has been transported to an undisclosed, secure location and is, as far as we know, safe. He has declared a nation-wide state of emergency. He is ordering and is currently in the midst of organizing evacuations across the United States. We'll update you on your evacuation route as soon as we receive orders…"_

"What should we do?" Christian asked me. I didn't know what to say. Even if I did know what to say, I don't think I would have been able to say it. My mouth hung open in shock.

Suddenly, three loud bangs sounded from outside. My instincts told me to make an excuse for the gunshots; it could have been the hunters that frequented the woods surrounding our house. I wanted to smile at Christian and comfort him, make him think that things were safe and okay. But I knew they weren't. Those shots weren't from hunters. The shots fired weren't fired in the woods behind our house; they were fired far in front of our house. The fired shots sounded from somewhere in the neighborhood.

"Mom?" Christian asked, the sound of terror quivering in his voice. I snapped back to reality to see him standing in front of the couch, terrified and confused, looking to me for orders of where to go and what to do.

"Lock the doors."


	2. Natalie, Day 1

**Hope everyone's had a great holiday season and is enjoying the start of a new year! Here's Chapter 2...**

**Natalie. Day 1.**

I closed the binding of the book, resting my palm against the front cover, as I finished rereading my favorite book, _Freakonomics. _I didn't need to read it again; I practically had the text memorized. I'd lost count of how many times I'd read it. Dropping the book on my coffee table, I let out a tired sigh and I looked to the front door. My roommate, Allie, still hadn't gotten back. She had left to go work out with a few of our coworkers a few hours ago. She had mentioned that they might stop to get drinks afterwards if they still wanted to hang out, but it seemed like they'd been gone longer than I'd expected; longer than they should have.

"If you're going to get drinks afterwards, what's the point of working out?" I had questioned before she left.

"What do you mean?" She'd asked as she put a dangly, sparkling earring through the piercing in her ear lobe.

"You'll just drink back all of the calories you burned," I'd said slowly, as if that would somehow help her to understand me.

"We're doing it for fun, Natalie. You should come with us," She had urged me with only a hint of genuine concern and interest. I'd dropped my book down on to my lap with an irritated roll of my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose between my eyes, feeling like I had to give an appropriate excuse to avoid going with them.

"Why are you putting earrings on?" I'd asked. She'd smiled and shrugged, her mouth open as she tried to search for an appropriate answer. I'd sensed that I knew what the true reason was before she could say anything. I had pulled my book closer to my chest, looking back down to the pages and trying to find my place. "I'm good, I'm trying to read through this again. Go on ahead without me, I'm fine," I'd said, trying to absorb into the pages.

"You've read that book already," She'd observed with a snarky tone. I'd raised the book closer to my face as if it would somehow ward her off.

"I'm aware," I had answered.

"Are you sure you don't want to go? Michael's going," She'd smiled, confirming my initial suspicions. I tried to conceal my disgust and eye rolls by squinting my eyes closed as tight as possible. She must have thought that the offer would somehow entice me. She was wrong. Hearing Michael's name only hardened my hesitance to joining them. I'd opened my eyes again and looked back down at the book, trying to refocus my eyes anywhere on the page to make her believe in my feigned disinterest in anything to do with Michael.

"In that case, I'll definitely stay home," I'd answered. She put her hands on her hips and glared back at me.

"Nat, I'm sure what he did was a mistake. He was drunk," She'd said. I let out a breath that might have sounded like a laugh but was intended as a disgusted groan. 'He was drunk.' It almost felt like a betrayal to my sex for a woman to make such an excuse for a man. I inwardly wondered when inebriation would no longer be deemed an acceptable excuse for sexual harassment and sexual assault, but I said nothing. I just stayed silent, just as I did when Michael had tried to explain himself to me that night. I tried to fully immerse myself in the book in hopes that she would leave me alone.

"Fine, be lame," She'd said as she left my room. I heard her grab her things off the counter, her keys making a jingling sound. "Worst roommate ever!" She had jokingly called back to me, though I knew she felt it was true at heart. She'd slammed the door closed and I heard the door click as she locked it behind her, leaving me alone in the apartment.

I hadn't seen her since.

I got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. I decided to start preparing for my own less-than-exciting night in at home; though it may not seem exciting to someone like Alex or Michael, a glass of wine and a chick flick sounded like a satisfying night to me. I walked over to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of Chardonnay that I'd opened with Allie about a week before. I poured myself a tall glass of the expensive wine and put in the old Jennifer Lopez movie, 'Maid in Manhattan.' I sunk down into the cozy couch cushions with a sigh, wine in hand, and watched the contrived and predictable introduction play out.

Chick flicks always have two major effects on me. The first is that they make me feel warm and hopeful, like there are men like _this_ in the world- men that can be ambitious and successful, but still want real love and find women with flaws attractive and 'quirky.' Then the second effect: a sense of sadness and despair; a reality check. There really aren't any men like this in the world and that is why there are movies made about them. Just like there are movies made about mythical Godzilla monsters and little mermaids, there are movies that depict the fabled existence of mature, sexy, ambitious, compassionate men.

I rarely watched chick flicks all the way through because, at some point while watching it, I'd eventually encounter that second effect. I found that, if I stopped watching the movie right as the couple achieved that initial level of contentedness, before the lover's spat that eventually led to the climax and, thus, the resolution of it, I got to experience that first effect; I got to feel warm, fuzzy, and loved. I could feel hopeful without having to deal with the after-effect of sadness and despair; I always stopped before I hit the reality check.

Thus, holding true to my pattern, I stopped the movie about half-way through the delightfully awful chick flick, just as my glass of Chardonnay began to run dry. I looked to the door and sighed, unable to ignore the fact that Allie still wasn't back. I couldn't help but speculate as to what was keeping her out so much later than she'd planned. Concern for her safety gnawed at my attention, especially given the group she was with. Before I could stop them, uninvited thoughts of Allie being with Michael intruded on my thoughts. Unavoidable images started to surface in my mind without my consent and, no matter how much I tried to ignore them, I couldn't.

"Ugh, gross," I found myself saying aloud. I considered turning the movie back on, but I didn't want to deal with the after effects of finishing the chick flick.

A thumping sound pulsed out overhead. After a moment of confusion, I realized that it was a helicopter flying by overhead; it was flying low and was very loud. I couldn't help but notice how odd it was that a helicopter was flying so low so close to the city; I was fairly sure that it was restricted airspace this close to Washington, D.C. I shrugged off the nagging thought, considering the possibility of something important and governmental happening that permitted legal use of Washington D.C. airspace. I got up from the couch with a tired groan, walking back to the kitchen and putting my empty wine glass in the sink.

A series of sudden loud popping sounds outside made me flinch and freeze in my steps. I ducked initially out of some kind of uncontrollable, primal instinct. I froze in my ducked pose, trying to decipher what I'd just heard. It felt like minutes passed as I thought, though it really only took a fraction of a second. The popping sounds I'd heard were gunfire; or at least, I thought they were. It didn't sound like the gunfire you heard in the movies. The shots didn't have that echoing sound that they always did on television; it didn't sound like I thought it should. Yet, some part of me subconsciously knew that it was gunfire. I wasn't consciously certain of it until the screams followed; it wasn't just a couple of screams that alerted my attention, but a mass of people screaming, rising in the streets near me like an organized, symphonic crescendo.

My apartment complex was located next to a huge shopping mall, one of the fanciest and most expensive ones in the capitol city; an over-priced shopping-meca for suburban soccer moms and their entitled, spoiled-rotten children. All I could think was that someone must have pulled a gun in the mall and there was a shooting. Homicide was occurring just outside my window. I panicked; I ran for my cell phone and quickly dialed 911, putting the phone to my ear through a shell-shocked haze. A busy tone blocked me out.

"What?" I couldn't help but whisper aloud to myself. _Emergency dispatch services can have a busy signal? That can happen? _ I tried dialing two more times, but nothing happened. What was I supposed to do now? I crept to the window and peeked out of the blinds as discretely as I could, trying to avoid drawing attention to myself, a witness, as I tried to gain perspective on what was happening on the ground.

I could see people running up and down through the streets. Some people were attacking others, but none of the attackers were using weapons; they were just walking up to people and tearing them apart with their bare hands, biting into them. I focused in on one of the attackers, trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

A man followed a woman and her child, who were desperately running for help. Another man approached them from the direction they were running, but you could tell from the expression on his face that he was not friendly; something was off about him. He was another of these odd, vicious attackers. I watched silently as the two helpless victims were cornered. The mother panicked, pulling her son in front of her, screaming at the men to go away or leave them alone. I could see the utter terror and horror in her eyes, panic on her lips. Yet the two men never hesitated. They reached out for the mother and boy and attacked. One of the men jumped on the small boy, who was maybe six years old, and bit into his neck. The little boy kicked his legs out in some kind of desperate attempt to escape, his eyes shooting open in a silent expression of terror and pain. The man pulled the flesh off of the boy's neck as if he were biting into a tough steak, the skin stretching away from him as if it were just another piece of clothing. I watched the man's jaw move up and down as he chewed on it, swallowing after. Nausea crept up my chest, but no matter how horrified and scared I was, I couldn't look away. The little boy was soaking in his own blood. His mother's arms were flailing towards him, protectively trying to grab her son, while she was also being held down and eaten alive by the other attacking man, blood oozing from her arms and onto her white blouse.

"Oh God," I uttered, falling away from the window. I could feel the nausea clawing its way up my throat and into my senses. I ran out of the living room and to my bathroom, throwing myself over the toilet and vomiting. When it was over, I leaned over the toilet an extra moment, feeling like I was caught in a horrible nightmare. I wished I could wake up. I stood myself up to escape the smell of warm vomit. I stood in the middle of the bathroom and stared at the door frame, unable to push myself back through it. I didn't know what to do now.

It hit me that this could have been the news my mom had told me about when I was on the phone with her last. She'd mentioned something about an illness or disease that was making people act crazy. It was happening all over the world.

"Don't you watch the news?" She'd asked me when I told her I hadn't heard about what she was talking about.

"I read The Economist," I shrugged, hoping that was a passing for suitable answer. If the news didn't have to do with work, I didn't really care to read or watch much about it. I remember bits and pieces of her lecture about needing to watch the news for basic safety measures in big cities, but I had tuned out for most of it.

"Just be careful. I think bigger cities might be dangerous if things start to get out of hand," She'd warned me.

"I'm sure it'll be fine mom," I had assured her.

"I'm not so sure, honey…" My mom had answered.

"Mom, don't worry! It's Washington, D.C. If any place is a priority to keep super safe, it's here. I'll be fine," I'd told her. Suddenly, I felt like an idiot. Whatever was happening in the streets outside of my apartment right now, I knew nothing about it. I felt blindsided and terrified. I wished the phones were working.

I considered just standing there, in the middle of the bathroom, waiting until the streets were cleared and FEMA started kicking in doors to make sure we were all okay. I knew I couldn't; who knew when that would happen? In all likelihood, one of these psychopaths could try kicking in my door before anyone got around to saving me. I knew that waiting for rescue wasn't really a valid option but… God, did I want to. I reluctantly pushed myself back out into my living room, screams still pouring in from all around me.

Only then did it hit me; the screams weren't just coming from the streets, but from all around me. There were screams coming from the inside of my apartment building. I looked up, panicked, to hear loud, thunderous footsteps through my ceiling, and screams from the hallway. I ran to my front door, making sure it was locked. I jiggled the handle and was moderately relieved to know I was locked in safely.

I looked around my kitchen, my primal instincts deciding that I needed to find something to protect myself with. I spun around, trying to find a weapon in case someone tried to get into my apartment or hurt me. There were cutting knives sticking out of a wooden block on my counter, sure, but I didn't want these people anywhere near me. I wanted something that I could chop or swing with, something that I could use to ward off these enemies from a short distance away. I opened a cabinet beside my stove and took out a frying pan, holding it tightly in my hands. A good swing would be enough to at least temporarily incapacitate someone.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I backed into a corner of the kitchen with my frying pan in hand. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my house number back in Greensboro; I only got the busy signal. I mashed my fingers against the 'end call' button and tried calling Charlie in Athens; I just got the same busy tone. I hung up and tried calling my dad's cell phone only to receive the same result, and then I tried my mom's cell; just busy. I didn't know why I was hoping any phone number would be different; logically, I knew no call would go through. With each number I dialed and couldn't reach, more hope fleeted from my chest.

I sank down against the cabinets and couldn't help but cry. I had always been an anxious and easily scared person but, in that moment, I realized that what I thought was fear wasn't fear. I had never been truly afraid before. What I was feeling now, this shaky, breathless, stomach falling out of my butt feeling was fear. In that moment, I was feeling true terror. I heard the rapid fire of a gun outside my apartment window and inwardly prayed that it was The National Guard. The screams didn't cease; they only got louder. I kept crying; I was so afraid of what would happen to me. The sounds of screams flooded my ears.

For some reason, my thoughts drifted. Something reminded me of a time I was at a beach with my family when I was just a kid. I shook my head, trying to physically shake the memories from my head, but I couldn't help but think of it.

When we were young, my mother would take us to the beach and we'd play all day. I remembered one time I was swimming in the water when a wave took me by surprise. Being so young and little, I slipped and fell under the wave. My body had flipped under water and I wasn't sure which way was up anymore. Before I could figure out how to resurface and get more air, another wave crashed down on me, flipping me around again. I panicked; my child self was certain that this was how I would die. I couldn't find the air, I couldn't find a way out of this watery grave. I finally felt hands grab around my tiny waist and pull me. I thought a sea monster was pulling me deeper into the abyss, but finally water fell off of me and I burst back into the air with a gasp, coughing out salty water. My wet hair stuck to my face like a starfish and I could make out my mother's comforting voice through my panicked breathing.

"You're okay, Natalie, it's okay," She'd comforted me as I realized I had enough air in my lungs to cry again.

A banging sounded on my door. Oh, God… they were here for me. The banging persisted.

"Go away!" I screamed out of terror, not knowing what else to do.

"Please, let me in! Let me in! Please!" I heard a woman scream on the opposite side of the door. She sounded more afraid than I was; which only further provoked me to keep the door closed. I sat, clutching the frying pan tight in my hands for a moment, resisting the urge to help her. "Please! God, please let me in! Please!" She screamed, banging on the door. My moral compass somehow took hold of me and I leaped into action. My legs kicked up from under me and I dropped the frying pan on the counter. I unlocked the door and, as soon as the lock moved, she rushed in, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it again.

My morals backed down and my defensive instincts took over again. I backed away from her quickly, grabbing my frying pan up off the counter and preparing myself to strike, if I had to. She looked at me, panic flooding her face. She was a short, pudgy woman in a pencil skirt and matching blazer. She wore short heels and had long hair that made her face look chubby. Her left arm was covered in blood, though I wasn't sure where the source was. "We need to block up the door!" She yelled urgently. She hurried to the other side of the refrigerator, which stood next to the door, and pushed the top of it, grunting. "Help, please!" She yelled. I hesitated, but put down the frying pan and went to her aid. We pushed the top of the refrigerator over, the sounds of the food inside clamoring against the sides. It landed in front of the door. She went around to the front of it and grunted as she pushed it back against the door as far as she could. I hurried back to the counter, picking up my frying pan once again. I backed into the living room a ways, watching the woman carefully and cautiously. She backed into the counter and grabbed her bloodied arm as she stared at the door. The screams grew even louder. Whoever was out there was on my floor. She looked around the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets quickly until she located the kitchen knives poking out of the wooden block on the countertop. She pulled out a sharp butcher's knife and backed out of the kitchen quickly, keeping her eyes on the door. She backed towards me quickly. I raised my frying pan, threatening her to stay away. She reached back towards me with her free hand.

"Stay back!" I yelled. She spun around quickly and put her free hand over my mouth.

"Shh!" She hushed me. We heard groans and screams close to the door. She reached down and grabbed my wrist, pulling me down the hall. She pulled me into my bedroom and shut the door, twisting the lock on the door knob. She backed away from the door, holding the knife tight in her hands. After a moment's hesitation, she turned around and grabbed my forearm. "Don't make a sound. If they hear us, they'll get in here," She whispered. I nodded quickly and silently. She went to the other side of the bed and sat down. I stood opposite her, too nervous and energized to sit, leaning against my dresser. She put down her knife and lifted her bloody arm. She slowly rolled up her sleeve to reveal a huge gash in it that was persistently gushing blood.

"Oh my God," I uncontrollably whispered. She looked up at me, fear and worry evident in her pained expression.

"It's bad, right? Does it look really bad?" She asked. I shook my head, unable to shake my gaze from her arm.

"I don't know, I'm not really a good… I know you need to go to the hospital," I muttered. She shook her head.

"Not now, I can't," She said, looking up at the window. The shrill sounds of screams still poured in from all around us, though I was somehow able to occasionally habituate to them. I looked back down at the woman.

"What happened?" I asked. She poked around her wound with her finger.

"What do you mean?" She asked, not looking up from the fleshy laceration.

"I mean… well, how did you get that… that wound?" I asked, pointing politely to her arm. "What happened to you?"

"What do you think? One of them bit me, clearly," She said. I shook my head, looking down at my knees.

"How would I know? I haven't been out there, I haven't been that close to these people or really had to deal with them," I explained quietly. I put the frying pan down on the dresser and crossed my arms over my chest.

"People?" She asked, looking up at me with tight, squinting eyes. I looked back at her, confused. She looked away a moment, letting out a condescending laugh. "You really haven't seen one of them up close, have you?" I shook my head again. "These things aren't people." I squinted at her, trying to find her meaning.

"Of course they are…"

"Maybe they were at some point, but… they aren't _people _anymore," She said, looking at the bed spread. "The one that attacked me… he wasn't… alive." She grew quiet. I stared at her, waiting for clarification, but she just sat silently on my bed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he was no longer alive," She said, quickly responding and shouting over me. We both looked up at the door quickly to ensure nothing sounded like it was coming closer. "The guy was missing half the skin on his face. He looked like he had been dead for days…" I looked down at my knees, more confused than ever.

"How can that happen?" I asked. We were silent; neither of us had an answer. I took the phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.

"What are you doing?" She asked quietly.

"Calling the police," I answered.

"It's useless, the phones are down," She said as my phone beeped the busy tone at me. I lowered it and looked confusedly at her.

"How can all the phones be down?" I asked, trying to sound pessimistic but unable to veil the anxiety in my tone.

"Probably too many people trying to call other people… like on 9/11." She explained. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It wasn't working. "I remember that day. I couldn't make a call to save my life. Sorry, I guess that's poor choice of wording. But you get it." I tried changing my breathing to see if it would help me catch my breath, sucking in a deep breath through my nose and letting it out slowly through my lips. "Thanks again for letting me in here. Those things are all throughout the building… I only came here because I knew I wouldn't make it downstairs to the lobby before they tore me apart…" I could feel my heart rate elevating and nausea overwhelming me. "We just can't leave here until we absolutely have to. Maybe this place will hold… for a little while…" I paced the floor at the foot of my bed, my fingers massaging my temples, trying to remind myself how to breathe and, somehow, failing. "What are you doing?"

"I… have panic attacks," I explained. I looked up and caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was beet red and tears were starting to stream out of my eyes though, for some reason, I couldn't feel them. "I can't… I need to…" I started fanning my face, nervous.

"What can I do? Can I do anything to…"

"Just leave me… alone…" I spat out in breathy phrases, fanning myself and trying to slow my breathing. It wasn't working. I could see the woman nervously moving about in the corner of my eye, trying to help me in some way. I closed my eyes and cringed, trying to force a final attempt to catch my breath. I grabbed hold of the side of the dresser, trying to stay up. I felt weak and faint. My knees buckled. My sight blurred. The ground started spinning and my grip failed me. The woman's calling voice faded to an echo, then disappeared entirely. I fell to the floor with a soft thud, my senses toppling into further confusion, and everything faded to black.


End file.
